Not as Planned
by dragonprincess1988
Summary: Batman, Nightwing, and Red Robin work together to track down Scarecrow. Needless to say, things go awry.


Tim had crossed paths with Batman and Nightwing while on patrol, and had it not been while chasing Scarecrow, he probably would have just avoided the two of them. Unfortunately, he didn't have that option. Instead, the three of them had decided to work together to take the Scarecrow down not that Red Robin had been working with the rest of the Bats lately. It was just easier to work alone-especially since Gotham was getting to be like the proverbial kitchen with too many cooks in it. Tim had always preferred working by himself, anyway. He certainly wouldn't have minded to continue doing so tonight, but once Batman gave an order, there was no opposing it.

They had followed Scarecrow to an abandoned building, and once inside, the three of them had separated, each taking a different floor-which Tim knew was a bad idea from the start. But, Batman had insisted, and both Nightwing and Red Robin knew better than to argue with the man, so, despite his better judgment, Tim had followed orders as usual. He just wished that he hadn't. He crept along the different corridors, searching for any sign of Crane, while listening to Nightwing chatter about the state of the place. Tim didn't say anything, just let him talk. He figured that eventually either Bruce would get sick of the constant noise, or Dick would talk himself out. Most likely, Bruce would break first. He always did.

The building was dark, which wasn't really a problem, given their night vision goggles. They all had their rebreathers at the ready the moment that they saw Scarecrow duck into this building, but none of that made Tim feel any better about this. It shouldn't have taken all three of them this long to track the man down, and the sudden dive into this building seemed far too premeditated to mean anything good-not to mention, the state of building made it clear that someone had made this their work area for quite some time. Tim had tried to voice this opinion to Batman earlier, but the man wouldn't hear it. Tim understood that Bruce was only really concerned with capturing Scarecrow and getting back to Damian, who had been dosed with something new that made the victim think they needed to fight for their life, and was currently sedated back at the cave with Alfred dutifully watching over him. That didn't, however, mean that Tim was pleased with the current circumstances; but he at least could understand where Bruce was coming from.

Still, as he picked through the top floor of the building trying to find Crane and end this night, Tim had to wonder why he hadn't pushed more. Once upon a time, he would have made Bruce hear him out, no matter how the man initially responded to Tim's theories. However, more and more often, lately, he found it harder and harder to use his voice at all around the man, and, to be fair, it wasn't just Bruce he had trouble speaking with. Lately, conversing with Dick wasn't all that much easier. He wasn't really sure when that had started, but Tim knew that he needed to work on that, because he couldn't continue compromising missions over a reluctance to disagree with the two of them. Unfortunately, now really wasn't the time to be thinking about all of that.

He stepped over some broken floorboards, and continued to make his way through the building, stopping to look through scraps of paper scattered around the area. Even if Tim couldn't find Crane, he hoped that he might be able to figure out some hint of his plan. He knew the man had one-he always did. Even when everything seemingly appeared to be randomly happening, Tim knew better than to suspect coincidence. They also had to discover what the new formula was and the extent of its effects, if they were going to help Damian. Tim knew he was in for a long night the moment Damian had been gassed. He just wasn't aware of how complicated his night was going to get.

Tim paused in the middle of reading over the dozens of papers in his hands when he heard Dick abruptly took in a large breath, only to curse a moment later over the comm. He didn't get a chance to ask what was going on before he began choking on the fumes suddenly seeping through the buildings vents. Tim immediately placed his rebreather in his mouth, even though he knew it was too late. He just hoped that the other two hadn't been gassed as well, but Tim knew it was a false hope.

Tim took a second to get his bearings, finished gathering the papers he had found, stashed them in his belt, and waited for the fumes to dissipate before he tried to reach Dick over the comm. "Nightwing, what happened?" He waited for a moment, but when there was no answer, Tim tried again, albeit a little more frantically. "Nightwing, are you okay?"

Tim was about two seconds away from panicking when he heard the comm. click on, and Dick's strained voice sounded in his ear. "I may have tripped a booby-trap, and I definitely didn't get to my rebreather fast enough."

Tim sighed. "Yeah, I assume all of the air vents were set to flood the building in that stuff no matter where the trap was set off. I got dosed, too."

"B, what about you?" Tim could tell that Dick was worried from his tone, but didn't say anything.

After a long pause, Bruce's gruff voice was in his ear. "I'm compromised as well. Head back to the cave before the effects set in."

Bruce then cut the connection, and Tim shut off his comm. After all, none of them needed to hear what this stuff did to a person. He made his way to the roof, hoping that he could make it back to the cave before things got out of hand. Tim ran, jumped, and landed on the next roof in a roll. He pulled out his grapple gun and made for the next rooftop. He knew that he needed to move fast. There was no telling how quickly this stuff would take effect. Tim was a block away from the building and just about to make his way to the next when he came face to face with Nightwing. Neither said anything. They were both headed to the same place…there was nothing to say.

Tim moved to take a leap off the building, but before he could, Dick had pushed him off. It took all of Tim's training not to hit the ground hard. He landed on his feet and back flipped away from a kick that would have left him reeling. "Nightwing, what the hell? It's me, Red Robin."

Dick didn't say anything before slamming Tim into the wall of the alley. "I don't know what you're doing here, but I'm not letting you get away this time."

Tim ducked an elbow aimed directly at his face. "This isn't real. This can't be real. It's just the toxin." He rolled, and then sprinted towards the fire escape. He just needed to get back to the cave. Clearly, whatever he was seeing was just a byproduct of whatever was running through his system. Tim knew he just had to get back that much faster. He scrambled up the fire escape, but he didn't get very far before there was a hand on his ankle pulling him down. "You're not getting away that easily."

Tim clawed at the metal rungs of the ladder he was on, and tried to pull himself up against the force of the hand on his ankle, but just when he thought he might be able to get away there was a distinctive black shadow above him that landed right in front of him on the fire escape's bottom landing. "This ends here." It was definitely Batman's voice, but the glare that he leveled at Tim was one he usually only reserved for criminals.

Suddenly, there was a boot on Tim's chest pushing him back with a force that matched the real Batman's, and Tim lost any chance he had to hold on. He landed on the ground below with a thud, but he didn't even have time to groan before there was a black and blue fist flying towards his face. He rolled out of the way and got to his feet, but then a kick that was obviously from Batman sent him careening into a brick wall. Without delay, there was a hand in Tim's hair that pulled his head back far enough for him to see the snarl on Nightwing's visage before he slammed Tim's face into the wall. Blood poured from his broken nose, and Tim made to block the next blow; but instead of knocking Tim's head into the wall again Nightwing pushed him away, and moved to follow with a kick aimed at Tim's ribs.

Tim jumped out of range of the kick, and tried to make a run for it, but he crashed into a solid chest with a bat on it. He tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. Nightwing was blocking the path behind him and Batman cut off the exit in front of him. They weren't speaking, just glaring at him while he breathed heavily and tried to think of a way out of this. They slowly made their way towards him, and Tim tried to subtly slide a hand into his belt, but they both caught the movement. The next thing he knew, Tim was ducking another kick from Nightwing, but he couldn't avoid the sweep from Batman. Again, he landed on the ground. This time with the wind knocked out of him.

Tim tried to get back to his feet, but before he could there was a large black boot pressing down on his chest. He felt three ribs crack from the pressure, and what little air he had remaining in his lungs left in a whoosh. He attempted to suck in air, but there was another kick to his abdomen, this time from a slightly less heavy boot. He reached for his belt again, and this time he was able to pull a few smoke pellets out. Before the next blow could land, Tim threw the pellets on the ground, and then he pulled his grapple gun out.

He knew it wouldn't buy him much time, but it at least gave him enough to get to the roof. Unfortunately, due to his broken ribs and the blood still gushing down his face, Tim didn't make it far before a body slammed into his, and knocked him down onto the roof. "You're useless, you know that. You can't even defend yourself properly. Completely worthless…no wonder no one wants you."

Tim ignored the words coming out of his brother's mouth as he pushed himself up into a standing position. He knew it wasn't real. It was just the toxin. It had to be just the toxin. He scanned the building and surrounding rooftops for Batman…or at least what his mind thought was Batman. He just needed to work through the delusion long enough to get back to the cave-or at least one of the satellite caves. Certainly, he could hide out in one of those until the toxin ran its course. He had spotted a fairly good escape route, and was about to make his move when he felt an elbow smash into his back. Tim fell face first onto the roof, but before he could pick himself back up, he felt a growing pressure on his hand. Tim glanced up to see Bruce standing on his hand, and slowly increasing the pressure.

"Bet you're wondering how you can get out of this, aren't you? Just give up. You can't." Dick's tone was mocking in a way that Tim hadn't heard in awhile, and it would have made him smile if it wasn't for all of the pain his words were causing him right now. Instead, Tim grunted as he attempted to pull his hand out from under Bruce's boot. "If you were smart, you'd stay down." Dick's tone had gone cold, and Tim had to turn his face to the side to breathe better out of his mouth. He couldn't help but think that he hadn't made one smart move all night. Surely, now was not the time to start. He struggled to get to his knees, and that's when he heard the distinctive snap of the little bones in his hands. He cried out, and managed to pull his hand towards him when Bruce's foot moved, but it was only to kick him in his already broken ribs, and, with a sharp howl, Tim fell flat onto the roof again.

He was abruptly kicked onto his back, and there was an escrima stick pressed to his larynx. "Don't you get it? You're just in the way. You always have been. Always the stand in…never the one anyone actually wants. I think Jason had it right. You are nothing more than a replacement."

Tim shook his head trying to block out the words. His drug-induced hallucination was too real, and he couldn't breathe; although, whether that was due to the escrima stick being shoved roughly against his throat or the blood pooling in the back of his mouth from his broken nose, Tim didn't know. He scrambled to push at the hands pressing on the escrima stick, but with one hand virtually useless, there wasn't much give. He was choking and struggling to clear his airway of all of the blood. It bubbled out of his mouth and dripped down his chin, and Tim wanted so badly to beg, but he didn't see a point. After all, what good did it do to beg an illusion?

It wouldn't have done any good to beg, even if Dick was real, and Tim was just glad that this delusion of Batman had stayed silent. He didn't think that he could take the sound of disappointment as well. His ribs made it hard to breathe, and his hand throbbed, but at least he didn't have to listen to that tone-the one that constantly reminded Tim that he wasn't good enough. He managed to push Nightwing's hand far enough away to take a breath-and it was agonizing-but Tim relished the feeling of air in his lungs. He didn't know why, but suddenly Dick wasn't on top of him anymore. Tim didn't hesitate before he got to his feet, but he wasn't standing long before he fell to his knees from the punch to his gut, courtesy of Batman. There was a kick that followed from the same man that had thrown Tim to the far edge of the roof. His armor kept all of his ribs from breaking completely, but Tim was sure that more than just a few of them were, at the very least, terribly bruised.

Nightwing watched impassively, as Batman approached, silent and judging, while Tim struggled to stand once more. He pulled himself up as much as he could, and then glanced around. He knew this wasn't going to end well. Tim didn't need anyone's words to know that he was failing. It didn't matter that this was all an illusion. Tim knew better, and still he had managed to make all of the wrong moves tonight. There were so many things that he could have done better, and Tim was just grateful that this fake Batman didn't feel the need to explicitly state them all the way that the real Batman would have.

Abruptly the imitation Batman was upon him and Tim didn't know what to do. He couldn't block any more hits-not without taking some serious damage, and Tim wasn't sure how much more damage he could withstand-not to mention there was nowhere for him to go. He glanced down over the side of the building, and did the math in his head. It could work, and it wasn't as though he hadn't executed worse plans. Tim braced himself for the next punch, and when it came, he allowed it to carry him over the side of the building. He did his best to ignore the fear, pain, and the distinguishing sound of his mentor's voice growling out a single word that made Tim realize just how far down the ground was. Hearing the simple word, "Pathetic," coming from the voice of his second father was enough to make Tim forget to brace for the impact of the dumpster below him, and when he hit, Tim was sure he was never going to get back up again.

Tim lay in the garbage hoping that he was lucky enough for them to walk away without checking to see if he was still alive. He also hoped that he was lucky enough not to be, but Tim knew that, if he was dead, then he wouldn't have felt this much pain. He stayed where he was, still as a corpse, and waited for fate to decide, because Tim couldn't even think through the pain…let alone move. He had no idea how long he lay there, attempting not to breathe in the putrid smell of the trash around him, but eventually Tim managed to climb his way out of the dumpster. It certainly wasn't the most elegant of moves, and he mostly just let himself fall off the side and onto the ground. He ultimately managed to limp his way out of the alley. He shuffled along for as far as his legs would carry him, and then he found a decent building to hole up in. It was abandoned and had a basement, and that was all that he really needed. Tim just wanted to get out of the open, and hide away. He would deal with his injuries after he passed out for a few hours, and, in the meantime, let whatever was in his system run its course. Tim was just happy that he had made it out without actually attacking anyone. It didn't matter what his drug-infused mind had thrown at him. Tim had stayed on the defensive, and that was all he had wanted to accomplish.

Tim slumped down in a corner of the basement of the building, far away from the stairs, and curled in on himself. He winced at all of his broken bones, but he was too tired to do more than that. He rested his head on his knees and shut his eyes. Slowly he began drifting in and out of sleep, and Tim tried to coax himself into staying awake just a little longer…just long enough to get the words and voices out of his head-because he was sure that if he passed out right at that very moment, then he would do nothing except dream of those terrible phrases over and over again. He lost his battle, however, and was out, despite the shudders running through his body at every memory.

The End


End file.
